


The Diary

by Tales of Josan archivist (nocturnus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, Written Pre-Half Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnus/pseuds/Tales%20of%20Josan%20archivist
Summary: Lupin discovers the skeleton in Snape’s closet.





	1. One by Josan

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived by Josan at Tales_of_Josan blog at Live Journal. She hasn’t updated since 2008. Lj administration reserve the right to delete inactive blogs. I am merely putting her fics onto AO3 so that they are safe from any issues on LJ.  
> I'm doing this for the purpose of preserving her fics.

Previous Entry Add to Memories Share Track This Flag Next Entry  
TITLE: The Diary  
AUTHOR: Josan  
DATE: July, 2002  
PAIRING: SS/RL  
RATING: Pretty PG  
FEEDBACK: Leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com

DISCLAIMER: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin and other Potter-characters mentioned belong to J. K. Rowling. The others are mine.

SUMMARY: Lupin discovers the skeleton in Snape’s closet.

NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest: Second Wave {Pairing # 3: Lupin}.

Mind you, there are also some aspects of Scenarios 34 {Something made Snape the person he is - and someone has a vested interest in finding out what that something was;} and 89 {Snape has kept a diary under lock and hex all these years. Someone reads it.}

BETA: Rhys, who pointed me in the right direction. Thanks. :-)

A.N.: Added August, 2005. I don’t care what JKR says, Severus Snape is the one who invented the Wolfsbane, or at the very least, modified it so that it was useful. So there!

 

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

 

He made it back before the transformation began.

No matter how many times it had occurred in his lifetime, the pain of it always took him by surprise. One would think that, by now, he would be used to the feelings of muscles and ligaments being pulled and twisted, of bones reforming, his skull being reshaped.

Still, each time, he would lie on the floor of whatever haven he had found for himself and wonder why the pain of it all didn’t drive him insane or even to suicide.

It had become worse, not better, since Snape and the wolfsbane potion.

Before, at least, he would barely remember the transformation. Now, though the potion allowed him to retain his humanity, it also kept him aware throughout the changes.

He lay panting through the after-effects on the floor, and wondered whether he should even try to find the pallet he was sleeping on these days.

He was barely aware of the robe that covered his nudity, of the hands that slipped under his unresponsive body and carefully shifted him to the pallet that had suddenly appeared next to him.

He knew this was not a normal occurrence but he was too tired to deal with it.

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

Severus Snape had hidden in the shadows of the small run-down shack to which he had been sent by Dumbledore to gather information from one of his agents. Dumbledore had forgotten – like bloody hell he had *forgotten*! – to mention the name of this particular spy.

He had arrived at the rendezvous point, realized that he was alone and spent the time waiting examining the few effects the one he was meeting had left behind.

The room, for the shack only had the one, was small. Seven paces by ten. Snape had counted off the space while waiting. That was after he had run through a litany of curses for Dumbledore’s having gotten the time wrong. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, not hours spent pacing and then finally succumbing to the temptation of examining the small table with its two drawers. The larger, deeper one contained some socks, underwear, a pair of thinnish jeans and a worn sweater. The smaller second drawer proved more interesting. It held a wand.

He took it out and examined it. Ollivander swore that it was the wand that chose the wizard. That each one was as different from another as were fingerprints.

He took a long look at the wand and knew that he should recognize it.

He lay it on the table, ignored the folded clothing and run-down half-boots at the end of the pallet for the knapsack that was hidden in a dark corner. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled it open and rummaged through it.  
He had barely registered the name on the flyleaf of the book he had taken out when the door was pushed open and a large, red-eyed, drooling beast limped in.

The name was the only reason Snape stepped back into the shadows instead of pulling out his wand and pronouncing one of the Unforgivable Curses.

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

Lupin roused not only to warmth, but the aroma of something indefinable wafting under his nose.

“Open your mouth and drink. It will deal with the headache.”

Lupin squinted his eyes and finally focused on a face that had no purpose being there.

“Dumbledore sent me.”

Oh, damn! There was a reason. Lupin opened his mouth and drank the potion offered. Snape was generous enough to give it the time to work before he snarled, “So the old bugger didn’t tell you that I was the one he was sending. Understandable. He didn’t tell me you were the one I was meeting. What’s wrong with your leg?”

Lupin pushed himself up onto an elbow and rubbed the heel of his free hand against his forehead. “I got nicked with a Disability Spell. Not enough to do much damage, just enough to slow me down a bit.”

Snape pushed aside the robe that was serving as blanket and examined the leg he had ignored. “Why the hell haven’t you done anything about this?” The burn looked raw, unattended.

“Just happened tonight.”

Snape pulled his wand out of his pocket and apparated a small jar from his personal supply. With a tone that belied the gentleness of his hands as he spread the ointment on the ugly wound, Snape grouched about the stupidity of the world in general, Dumbledore in particular.

“I take it that they used this particular spell because they’ve finally clued in as to what you are. You’re not going to be of much use to Albus any more, now that they’ve made you. Couldn’t you have been more cautious?”

Lupin lay on the pallet and marvelled at the difference in Snape’s tone and words compared to the hands assuaging his pain. “It’s not as though I did this on purpose, Severus,” he said, wincing at a particularly sensitive spot, “no matter what you think.”

Snape looked around for something on which to wipe his hands and gave up, using the bottom of his robe. “Can you walk, do you think?”

“Well, I didn’t fly here,” Lupin snapped, showing some life for the first time since he’d realized that he was not alone.

Snape rose and tossed Lupin the clothing that he had left on the pallet. “Hurry up. I don’t know how much time we have, but I have the feeling that it would be best if we were not in the area when they arrive here.” At Lupin’s raised eyebrows, he added, “The Spell is traceable. The fact that it grazed you means that the trail is weak, but they will find it and they will follow it. Personally, I would prefer not to be found.”

As Lupin quickly dressed, Snape packed all he could find in the agent’s knapsack, which he tossed over a shoulder. He had to help Lupin with his boots and then to stand. Gingerly, Lupin took a couple of faltering steps then, with a breath, straightened his spine and nodded at Snape.

“Put your arms around me.” At Lupin’s raised eyebrows, Snape sighed loudly. “It’ll go faster if we apparate together. That way we’ll end up in the same location at the same time.”

With wary reluctance, Lupin pressed himself against Snape, placed his arms around the stiff body and tried not to rest too much of his weight on his sore hip. Snape draped one arm around Lupin’s waist and muttered the apparating spell. Out of caution, and maybe even paranoia, he apparated them a total of four times, the last time to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, before he felt that there would be no trail for the Death Eaters to track. Then, with a growled “Trasporto!”, he transported them to their final destination.

“We’re here,” he muttered, reaching around Lupin to wave his wand at one of the many nooks that were scattered here and there in the outer wall of Hogwarts. A door appeared and, with another wave, Snape opened it.

Lupin stepped through, limped behind Snape through yet another spelled door, and looked around. “Where...”

“In the dungeons of Hogwarts.”

A third door and they were in a room.

Lupin shook his head in awe. “I’ve never seen dungeons like this in Hogwarts.”

“That’s because these are my private quarters, the rooms beyond my office.”

Lupin suddenly grinned. “Has Dumbledore ever seen them?”

Snape walked over to a table that filled up the entire length of one wall. It was ornately carved and black with age. He dropped Lupin’s knapsack on it, and turning, rested a hip against the edge as he looked around the room, trying to see it through Lupin’s eyes.

It was large, as large as a classroom. One of the walls was nothing but shelves filled with books. Another had a fireplace dead centre, framed by more packed bookshelves; above its mantle, the portrait of an ethereal-looking woman who was watching Lupin with curiosity. The fourth was glassed cabinets of jars, vials, and bottles of various sizes and colours.

Over the table was a large banner of Slytherin House.

There was a carpet of oriental design on the stone floor and large comfortable leather armchairs with tables near-by for light and books. The extra-long couch was made for a tall wizard to stretch out on easily.

“Wollie!”

Lupin blinked and a house elf appeared, wearing a tea towel with the Slytherin badge imprinted on it.

“Our...guest...needs a bed for the night and some food.”

Wollie grinned, nodded to Lupin. “Bath, too, Sir?”

Snape handed the knapsack to the elf who just as suddenly disappeared with it.

Moments later, several dishes appeared on the table and Snape pulled out a chair for his ‘visitor’.

With careful steps, Lupin made his way to the table, sat and served himself. He ate ravenously; it had been some time since he had had enough to satisfy his hunger. Snape sat at the far end of the table, sipping tea and watching Lupin eat.

“Does Dumbledore have any idea of how short-rationed you were?” In his search of the hut, he had found only a pot with some broth in it, and a small hunk of slightly dried cheese with a heel of bread wrapped in a t-shirt on the table. Nothing else by way of food.

“None of his business,” Lupin forked up some beef cooked exactly the way he liked it, on the rare-ish side. “Is he joining us?”

“Now why would he be doing that?” sneered Snape.

“So I can report to him.”

Snape glared at the contents of his tea cup. “Report to me as was originally planned. I’ll see to it that he gets his information.”

Lupin looked up. “What aren’t you telling me, Severus?”

Snape raised his eyes from the cup. “I was given a time that was far too early for our meeting. You were sent into a situation that almost got you...not killed. Disabled and leaving a trail. They were onto you and, I warrant, waiting for you. If you had been hit as planned, they would have been right behind you when you arrived.”

Lupin sat back in his chair. “We have a spy in our midst.”

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

Wollie had seen to it that the tub was filled and that towels – Slytherin green in colour – were waiting for Lupin. After shaving - with ample hot water! – he slipped into the first real soak he had had in over a year and nearly fainted with the pleasure of it. Even his hip reacting badly to the heat couldn’t mar this moment. He lay back in the deep tub and closed his eyes. Behind his head was a pillow that indicated Snape was not unappreciative of this self-same pleasure.

Who would have thought it? Lupin sighed as the heat penetrated his bones and chased away the chilly dampness that seemed to have taken permanent residence in his body these last months. As the main room had reminded him that Snape was, after all, a man of learning, it had also revealed a man who appreciated comfort and beauty. The bathroom, down the hall from the main room, indicated a side to the man that Lupin had never considered: that he also had an appreciation of the sensual.

The tub was long and deep, the back angled for comfortable soaking. There was a bookcase in here as well, within easy reach of the toilet itself, filled with books and journals of all kinds. In the corner was a glassed stall with... Lupin opened an eye to check that he had indeed seen the double shower head. The wall by the stall was partially mirrored and – Merlin’s beard! – so was the ceiling above the tub.

Lupin closed his eyes, not wanting to see the bones pushing their way out of his skin. Yes, he had been on short rations for far too long. No, he didn’t suppose Dumbledore knew. And even if he did, what had Snape expected the man to do: conjure him some? He was supposed to be observing, not being observed. The use of magic would have defeated that. The area had its own werewolves so that the presence of another transforming would not attract attention. Or so they had thought.

“Sir?”

Lupin blinked and roused himself.

“Sir, sleeping in tub not a good idea.”

Lupin sat up and found that Wollie was there, offering him one of the towels. “Just let me wash my hair.”

Wollie waited until he had rinsed the second shampooing, offering his shoulder for support when Lupin tried to get out of the tub without placing too much weight on his weakened side.

“Thank you, Wollie.” Lupin slipped on the heavy dressing gown – Slytherin green, of course – and, barefoot, limping more heavily than he had been, followed the elf out of the bathroom, down the hall to a bedchamber with a four-poster that looked as though it had been taken from one of the school dormitories.

With a sigh of relief as he lay down, he struggled awkwardly to take the dressing gown off and get himself under the covers. Wollie took the gown from him and then went to the door. “Master, Sir is ready.”

Snape stood in the doorway, head cocked as he waited for Lupin to accept his presence. “I’ll need to doctor that burn again.”

Keeping himself discreetly covered – knowing that Snape had already seen him in all his glory – Lupin watched as the long fingers spread and gently worked in the healing salve. “Will this still be traceable?”

Snape shook his head. “The route I took here will only confuse them, even assuming that they know I was the one who was meeting you. They won’t know where you’ve gone to. There are too many wards on the school for them to follow you here. And too many on these rooms.” Snape looked up. “I value my privacy. There, that should quicken the healing. In a few days, you may have a scar, but the muscle will have regenerated so there should be no lasting effect.”

At the door, Snape stopped and spoke over his shoulder. “Wollie will see to your needs. Until we know more, I must insist that you remain in these quarters. The main room is free to you, though I would prefer that you stay out of my bedchamber.”

ssSSssSSssSSss

The next days were no hardship. Wollie found him clothes that were less threadbare than his own. With the help of the mirrors in the bathroom, he managed to trim his hair to a length that he thought suited him; just brushing the top of his shoulders.

And he had nothing really to do except sleep, eat, heal, and read. All in the comfortable safety of Snape’s quarters.

Lupin browsed through Snape’s bookshelves, found a history of early wizardry (MMMM B.M. – before Merlin – to the Golden Age, around MDCC B.M., a set of four volumes) that he’d never read, then stretched out comfortably on the couch.

Now and then he would look up to find the Lady in the Portrait smiling down at him, in a welcoming and slightly familiar smuggish way, as though she knew something that he didn’t. Wollie, if he was not imagining it, also wore the same smile as he brought special dishes that he knew would please Lupin. He had eaten more in the past two days than he had in the previous weeks.

Snape joined him late in the evenings, after detention. He’d reported Lupin’s findings to Dumbledore that first day, but nothing else. So far the only ones who knew that Lupin was no longer in his assigned area were himself and Snape, Wollie, and the Death Eaters who had not been able to find any trace of him beyond the hut that had sheltered him.

The first night, Snape had barely arrived when exhaustion overwhelmed Lupin, in spite of his having spent most of the day napping, and he found his bed.

“Why don’t you trust Dumbledore?” Lupin asked that second night.

Snape accepted a large mug of tea from Wollie and managed a decent glare at Lupin over the rim. “It’s not Dumbledore I mistrust. It’s whoever has a line into his office. Let’s face it, security has been breached.”

Lupin nodded. “But what of the others, those who are out there, still gathering information against the Dark Lord? Their security too has been breached.”

Snape said nothing; he settled back in his chair and rested his feet on the ottoman. He frowned as he crossed one ankle over the other.

“Do you mistrust me, Severus? Do you think I’m the breach in security?”

Snape raised his head and met the eyes watching him with cold interest. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I don’t think that you’re the breach.”

Lupin smiled, a slow understanding smile. “But you don’t trust me.”

“I have not treated you kindly, Lupin. You have no reason to trust me.”

Lupin thought a moment. “Too true, Severus. I can accept that you were not pleased to lose the Defence position to me...”

Snape scoffed. “Lupin, I have never been the slightest interested in that position. That’s been a ruse on Dumbledore’s part to allow me to continue as the most detested instructor here at Hogwarts. Which makes me the perfect confidant of those whose families are associated with the Dark Lord.”

Lupin stared at Snape and then nodded his acceptance. “Then why the revelation to the school of what I am?”

Snape folded his hands into his sleeves. He scowled at his boots.

Lupin waited, wondering if he would ever be given an answer. He’d gone back to his reading when he heard a muttered, “Because I’m a stupid git.” Before he had time to look up, Snape had charged out of the room.

Lupin’s attention was caught by the Lady in the Portrait. She was shaking her head sadly, thin silvery lines of tears shimmering on her cheeks.

ssSSssSSssSSss

As Snape had predicted, the burn was healed in a week. The scar it left would fade, and the muscle that had been damaged by Lupin’s flight after being struck did indeed regenerate. Eight days after arriving, Lupin no longer limped. He had caught up on his sleep, knowing that here between these walls he was as safe as anywhere on the planet. Under the watchful eyes of the Lady in the Portrait, Wollie was forever tempting him with small dishes of something or another so that he had even begun putting on weight.

He’d finished the last volume of the history he’d been reading and was browsing around the bookshelves, looking for something else to read, when he noticed the Lady was pointing to the lower shelves. He smiled at her and followed her suggestion. It was there, while rummaging on the bottom shelf, that he found the leather-bound hand-written volume on werewolves shoved, spine hidden, on top of some shorter books.

He sat back on his heels and scanned a few pages, noting the comments jotted, here and there, in the margins. He looked up to find the Lady nodding happily at him, as though very pleased with his choice. He smiled back at her as he always did. He had wondered who she was but there was no identifying tag on the bottom of the frame. Wollie had merely shrugged when he had asked if the elf knew who she was. For some reason, he hadn’t yet asked Snape about her.

The book was in Latin, a language Lupin was familiar with from his own studies on lycanthropy. The body had been written by two different hands in a style that definitely dated it as centuries old; the clearer, more feminine of the two, gradually took over the book. The notations in the margins were by yet another hand, one too fine to be Snape’s.

Lupin knew Snape’s, not only from their time as students, but also from the rolls he had once or twice corrected at the long table. It was a definitive handwriting, bold, determined. This one was fine, almost spidery. Snape’s comments in the margins of the rolls – Lupin had read one as he had caught Harry Potter’s name on the edge – were biting, scathing, and unfortunately all too correct. The ones in the book were inquiring, pensive. Snape’s were punctuated with strong exclamation points; the other, more frequently with interrogatives.

Lupin was astonished as he scanned the contents of the book. The author was a werewolf who had also been an alchemist. The book began as a diary of his transformations and what he remembered of them and the times he had been a beast. He had even noted his nightmares and dreams, thinking that they might lead him to some understanding of the process and maybe even a way of controlling it.

He was a rarity for a werewolf, one who tried hard to understand his condition, to face it straight on and thereby deal with his fear of it. And he was actually married, to a woman who knew what he was and accepted it.

Lupin looked up at the Lady in the Portrait who was very attentive as to his reactions. “She was trained as an apothecary.”

The Lady smiled openly, nodding her head.

“But she was not a witch.”

Again the Lady seemed pleased with his conclusion.

“How old is this diary?”

She repeated a backward wave with a hand that seemed to indicate far too much time had passed to bother counting.

The apothecary-wife had worked with the alchemist-werewolf, noting the details of his transformation – as it occurred in a cage of re-enforced bars for her own protection – the mannerisms of the werewolf at his wildest, the hunger that even the feeding of uncooked meat barely assuaged. She had meticulously noted the times of each phase of the transformations, the length each lasted, the reaction of her husband to them. Then, later, when he was a man again, Lupin realized that they had discussed what she had noted, analyzing and dissecting each little detail as though to understand each would lead to an understanding of the phenomena as a whole.

From a letter Lupin found snuggled between pages, in the same clearer hand, the wife had written to a daughter that her husband had died – in his bed of all places – soon after the last entry in the book. The letter made it clear that though the daughter had inherited her father’s “ailment”, it was less severe than his. The wife counselled her child to continue her father’s work.

Since the letter had been sent – there were still the trailings of wax and a stain of its colour on the paper – Lupin could only assume that the book had indeed found its way to the daughter and that she had stored the letter in it as a memento.

The notes in the margins were fascinating. If the hand were the daughter’s, she had indeed taken up her parents’ work. There were comments, observations on how her transformations differed, herbal references.

Lupin suddenly sat up and stared at the inside cover leaf. It listed a series of ingredients, some of which Lupin was familiar with.

They were part of the wolfsbane potion he drank every month at the full moon.

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

He thought about it for a couple of days during which he reread the book with great attention. The man’s transformations were as painful as his own, but the daughter’s were less. He found a small note in yet another hand – the only one of its kind in the entire diary – that indicated that someone else’s were of even less intensity, and that his or her transformations were of lesser duration.

For some reason that he couldn’t fathom, Lupin didn’t want Snape to know that he had found the diary, that he was reading it. He always had something else in hand when the man joined him in the evenings.

“Well, Dumbledore’s *finally* realized that you’re not to be found,” Snape announced after Lupin had been his guest for two weeks.

Lupin shrugged. “It’s not as though I checked in on a regular basis.”

“No, but someone is trying to find where you’ve gone to and it’s come to the attention of others who do.”

“Are you going to tell him that I’m here?” Lupin put down the book he was reading on the procedures for the development of potions and took up his cup of tea.

Snape shook his head. “If he’s worried, that will only reassure our mole that the situation is real. I wonder...” he paused to take a sip of his own tea.

Lupin smiled into his cup, knowing Snape was doing it to think something through, and waited for him to continue.

“Have you reported everything to me?”

Lupin raised a suddenly haughty eyebrow. “So, you do doubt me after all.”

Snape met his irritation. “No. But you are no longer a threat to them. You are not the first who’s spying on them to move on to another location. So why are they so intent on finding you?”

Now Lupin used his tea as a cover for his thinking. All he could do was shake his head. “I have no idea. The information I passed on to you was nothing different than the usual. Just the names of those I recognized who had suddenly appeared in the area, paying court to Voldemort. And the descriptions of those whom I didn’t.”

“Maybe you saw something else.”

Lupin thought again. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, think on it. There has to be something that has suddenly made you such a target.”

Lupin nodded. He looked up and saw the Lady in the Portrait watching them sadly. “Severus, who *is* that woman?”

Snape looked up to the portrait. The woman smiled at him. He stood and pulled his robe in tightly around himself. “My mother’s mother,” he snapped as he stalked out. “Good night, Lupin.”

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

Lupin had selected another book to fill his day when he stopped to look at the woman who was Snape’s grandmother.

Snape, Lupin concluded, had to take after his father’s side of the family. There was none of that ethereal gentleness to the man. He was taller, larger-boned, darker. His face was longer, harder than this woman’s. The hands, though, had come through this line. Snape’s were long, narrow, with fingers that belonged on an artist. A masculine version of those that lay folded on the woman’s lap.

She was sitting on the edge of a wing-chair, her robe a pale grey in contrast to the dark red of the leather. There was a table next to the chair, with several books on it and a blood-red rose.

Lupin smiled. Whoever had had the portrait painted had loved this woman. The rose was a sure sign of that. He was turning away when he noticed something about the books on her table.

There were three of them, two with titles on their spines. One was a history of the great wizardry houses – indicating that the woman either had been born to one or had married into it; the second, a tome on potions.

So, thought Lupin with a bit of a snicker, Snape came by his interest honestly.

The third book, the one on the bottom, had no title on its spine. In fact, it didn’t even look like a published manual, but like...like something that had been put together. Something that looked familiar.

Lupin glanced up at the woman and watched her nod at him. Not really believing his eyes, he rushed to his bedchamber, took the diary out of the drawer in which he had hidden it, and ran back to the portrait. He compared the spine of the book in his hand to that of the portrait’s.

The same book.

It had to be. The artist had copied the stain that covered the bottom of the spine, had even caught the small tear in the leather at the top.

“Bloody hell!”

The woman in the portrait raised a strongly disapproving eyebrow at that. Seemed that Snape had inherited more than his hands from her.

Lupin sat on the couch and stared at the diary in his hands. In keeping with the tradition of including some of the sitter’s personal history, the artist had indicated that the woman was associated with an important family, that her witch’s skills lay in the area of potions. Had it been her decision to include the diary? Her way of acknowledging that it had some bearing on her life?

Holding the diary, Lupin went up to the portrait, trying to see if there was anything of the werewolf in the woman’s features. She had been younger than he when this had been painted, probably soon after her marriage. He knew that, due to the transformations, his features were slowly changing with each passing year. That his face was slightly longer than it had been, that his brown eyes were acquiring yellow tones. His light brown hair was streaked with grey and white far earlier than his colleagues’. Snape’s, for instance, was as black as it had been when he had been fooled into following Lupin beyond the Whomping Willow.

The woman met his gaze frankly, as though examining him in turn. If she had been a werewolf, she showed none of the signs.

At least none that the artist had seen.


	2. Two by Josan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin discovers the skeleton in Snape’s closet.

“We’ve found our spy!”

Snape actually wore a pleased expression instead of his usual grimness. He was also early.

Lupin looked up from the diary that he was rereading in an attempt to find a clue as to its authors. “Who is it?”

“It’s one of the house elves. Seems he’s one of Malfoy’s. Lucius sent him here with orders to report to him everything that he saw or heard from Dumbledore’s rooms. He managed to avoid detection because, well, who the hell would think of suspecting a house elf? He had orders to keep to himself but Dobby finally saw him and recognized him. He went to Dumbledore straight away and...”

Snape had caught sight of the book in Lupin’s hands. He went white. “Where did you find that?”

Lupin glanced over at the bookshelves. “Bottom shelf, on top of those books, shoved as far back as possible. I wasn’t looking for it on purpose, I just happened across it.”

Snape dropped into his chair and stared at the volume.

Lupin gave him a moment to collect himself. “So, is it true? Do you have werewolf blood in you?”

Snape closed his eyes and went so still that Lupin wasn’t certain he was breathing.

Finally, from a throat that seemed strangled, “H...how...?

“I recognized it. It’s the bottom book next to her. To your grandmother.”

As though in slow motion, Snape pulled his robe tightly around him, wrapped his arms around himself. There was no expression on his face, only a blankness that seemed to be a mask.

Lupin waited, not really knowing what to say.

When Snape spoke, it was as though he were totally removed. His voice was monotone, lifeless.

It frightened Lupin.

“Her name was Lilith de Saramon Monferran.”

So, thought Lupin, married into importance. The Monferrans were an ancient family.

“The diary you hold was written by her ancestors some time in the mid 1200's.”

Wollie, attracted by the sound of his Master’s voice, had reappeared with a tray of tea which, after one look at Snape, he set by Lupin. Lupin, not taking his eyes off Snape, nodded his thanks.

Snape’s tone changed slightly; it became professorial. “I’m certain that you, of all people, are aware that there are two sub-groupings of werewolves: those born and those made.

“Thierry de Saramon was one of those born. Born also with a thirst for knowledge.”

Another inherited trait, thought Lupin as he poured a cup of very strong tea for Snape and stirred in several cubes of sugar, even though he knew Snape never drank it that way. Wollie didn’t correct him either but took the cup to his Master and waited until Snape seemed to realize that it was for him. He took a sip, not commenting on the taste. Probably, thought Lupin, he didn’t even realize that it was sweet.

“Did you know that those born pass on the trait while those made do not? However, should one breed with wizards and witches who do not possess the distinctive werewolf gene, like any other genetic trait, the chance of it being passed on is only 50 percent. And if that progeny breeds with another non-werewolf... Well, you get the idea.”

“Lilith de Saramon was not a werewolf.”

“No.”

“But she knew of her background.”

“Yes.”

“Did her husband?”

“I have no idea. He died long before I was born.”

Lupin looked at the portrait with its diary and its rose. He thought that maybe her husband had and loved her no matter.

“I would have thought,” Lupin dared venture into difficult territory, “that knowing all this about your antecedents, you would have been more tolerant of me.”

Snape stared at the cup in his hand as though noticing it for the first time. He set it down carefully on the table next to his chair.

“The gene,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard Lupin, “is recessive.”

Lupin placed his cup down as well. “I see.” Though he really didn’t.

“My grandfather died in a bizarre accident fairly soon after his marriage. He was not aware that his wife was pregnant. Lilith de Saramon decided not to tell her daughter about the family skeleton. There was no reason to, I once heard her say. There had been no incidences of lycanthropy in the family for several generations. Besides, my mother was...fragile. She took things very much to heart. Too much so. Finding a dead bird in the garden would make her weep for hours.

“To her credit, when my mother wanted to marry Julius Snape, my grandmother had a talk with him, but only about my mother’s fragility. He was aware of her moods, as he called them, and he was patient and gentle with her.”

Snape looked at Lupin for the first time, his voice soft with love. “She was very beautiful, you see. When well, there was no one like her. She lit up a room just by entering it.”

Lupin remained silent while Snape was lost in memories. Suddenly, he shuddered, as though to bring himself back to the present. He continued brusquely. “She was quite ill after I was born. My father was very pleased with me and assured her that one child was more than enough. But she wanted a daughter. She conceived again when I was seven. This time, she had no trouble at all with her pregnancy and with the birth of my sister.” Snape’s voice softened again. “Who was a beautiful, intelligent child who had the misfortune of inheriting the de Saramon recessive gene.”

Lupin braced himself, knowing now that they were venturing into a history he was no longer certain he wanted to hear. “Severus...”

“She was born just after the full moon. Nearly a month old when the gene revealed itself. Probably because her bones were still those of a infant, and with her genetic inheritance, her transformations were never as severe as yours.”

Snape looked at Lupin. “I watched you change from werewolf to man. Your transformation patterns more closely that of Thierry de Saramon than of his descendents. Stronger, more painful. Probably because you were not born with a genetic predisposition for the change. Your muscles, bones, ligaments are totally human, not, I believe, genetically modified for transformation.”

Lupin said nothing, merely nodded. Snape did not want to deal with something right now and he would give the man that. “The potion you and yours created actually make the physical transformation somewhat easier.”

“Really? I must work on that then.” Snape nodded his head, eyes far away. Not on the potion, Lupin knew.

“As an infant, they bedded her in a small cage those nights of the full moon. In a locked room. They tried to keep me away from her.” Snape shook his head slightly. “They weren’t often successful. Her name was Suzanna.”

After several minutes of silence, Lupin spoke quietly. “You loved her.”

Snape’s small smile was painful to see. Lupin found it hard to breathe for a moment.

“Oh, yes. She was like Mother at her best. Strangely enough, she didn’t have Mother’s moods though she did look like her. Had the same beauty. The same fragile look. You would have thought that a stiff breeze would blow her away, but she was strong. Grounded. Like a...like a Snape.

“She walked early, talked early. Followed me about like a shadow. She absolutely hated being left behind or out of things. If I did something, she had to do it, too.”

Snape smiled at something only he could see. Lupin remained silent and waited for him to continue.

“She inherited our father’s temper. Whenever she tried to do something and couldn’t – she was still so very small, you understand – she would go red like he did and...”

Snape’s voice lost its warmth. “And he hated her. Was disgusted by her. And now by Mother. And me.

“Soon after Suzanna’s first transformation, my mother’s mother visited and they had a screaming match in the Library that I listened to from the landing. Mother was sedated in her room. She was pretty much always sedated in one way or another after Suzanna...

“Grandmother wanted to take Suzanna with her but Father wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want her, couldn’t stand the sight of her, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to have her. I think he was terrified that it would come out that he had married a werewolf and that his career would be ruined. Grandmother never visited again. I never saw her after that. I blamed her, you see, for what happened. By the time I understood better, she was dead. I was her sole heir and inherited everything.”

Sole heir? thought Lupin.

Snape twisted in his chair to look at his grandmother. He spoke the rest of his story to her.

“Father sent us to live on a property he had in Scotland. The place was fairly isolated. No one nearby to be bothered by the monthly howls of a young she-werewolf. Not that they could have heard her: those nights, she was locked in what had once been a wine cellar. The nurse who had accompanied Mother and us was not happy to be exiled there. Suzanna and I didn’t care. We had more freedom in those hills than we would have had back...with father.

“Still, the nurse thought the solitude was doing Mother some good and began reducing her medication.” And was lost again in memories.

Lupin waited several minutes before prodding, “Severus, what happened to your sister?”

Snape’s voice returned to the dry professorial.

“Mother drowned her. She wasn’t quite three. She gave her a bath while the nurse was doing something else and she drowned her. Then she cut her wrists, kept them in the same water until it turned so red that I could barely see Suzanna’s face. I was the one who found them.”

Lupin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just watched Snape’s face as he continued speaking.

“The nurse sent an owl to father and he must have apparated as soon as he received it. He had them buried immediately, dismissed the nurse, then not knowing what to do with me, brought me back,” Snape sneered, “ home. I learnt from one of the house elves that he had told everyone that my sister had died soon after she had been born and that my mother had never recovered. That I had been staying with some relative.

“My father ordered me never to discuss the past three years with anyone, on pain of his anger. An effective threat. He never tolerated tears from his son. Not even in this circumstance. I was not allowed to mourn either of them. Not mother. Not Suzanna.”

Lupin looked up to see the woman in the portrait silently weeping.

Snape’s voice was wistful. “I loved her so much and she loved me back. I think,” he sounded pensive, “she was the last person who did.”

“Severus...I... Oh, Merlin! Fuck!” Lupin felt his throat tightened at the injustice of it all. He stood, went to offer Snape some comfort but the man rose suddenly, avoiding his touch, and went to stare at Lilith de Saramon.

“Maybe if she had known beforehand. If Julius had... If they hadn’t married...”

Lilith de Saramon Monferran hid her face in a pale handkerchief.

Lupin stood behind Snape, his hands aching to touch the shoulders hunched stiff with pain. “If they hadn’t married, then you would not be here.”

Snape scoffed. “And that would be such a calamity.”

Speaking over his shoulder, Snape continued his story. “Father married again. A woman whose background he rigorously researched. He refused to send me to my grandmother – she’d written asking him to send me to her – and barely tolerated my presence those few months until I left for Hogwarts.  
“The last time I saw him was the night before I left for my first year here. He informed me that he had settled some money on me and, thereafter, pretty much ignored me until he heard that I was specializing in Potions. That didn’t please him: the de Saramons were Potions Masters. He wanted me to stop doing so – anything else was preferable to him – and when I wouldn’t, he cut me off. But by then, grandmother had died and I had access to greater wealth than he ever had.”

“Was that when you received the diary, with its potion?”

Snape nodded. “It took some years to experiment with it, finding the correct ingredients and their proportions. Thierry’s daughter was a herbologist and had begun her own experimentation. She noted the results in the back of the diary, but no one else seems to have been interested. Either that or they lost the diary and it was only found in more recent times, when, by then, it no longer mattered to them. Or so they thought.”

“What happened that it suddenly mattered to you, Severus? By the time you got the diary, you really had no reason to work on the potion. Other than it was a potion.”

Arms tightly wrapped around himself, Snape awkwardly dropped to his knees on the carpet in front of the fire. He stared into the flames, lost in another world. Lupin knelt to the side of him, watching Snape’s face as he finally sat back on his heels.

“My...father...wanted to have me castrated at one point, then something happened and he didn’t. I think some foreteller – a real one, not one like Trelawney – told him that there was no need. That my interests lay with men, not women. That I would never have children. By then, he had produced other children – normal children – and had them to concern him. I guess he stopped worrying about werewolves in the family. He was wrong.”

Snape laughed and chills ran down Lupin’s spine. “I am not a werewolf, but it seems I am attracted to them.”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose high. “Oh.”

Snape cocked his head, still staring into the fire. “I didn’t know then that the boy I was attracted to was a werewolf. I found out the hard way.”

Lupin closed his eyes on a silent curse.

Snape continued, his voice casual as though merely discussing the weather. “It took me some time to get over that. Both the finding out and the attraction. But then I came across the potion and began thinking that there might be other Suzannas out there. I created the potion for *her*,” he insisted, “ not for you.”

Lupin kept his voice calm. “I understand, and I thank her for that.”

Snape continued as though Lupin had not spoken. “Of course, then, you had to come back. Back here, back into my life. And the attraction had not lessened. Not with time. Not with the understanding of what you are.”

Lupin was stunned. He reached out a hand and Snape leaned away, avoiding his touch. “I could not, of course, indicate the attraction, knowing that it would not be reciprocated, so I did what my father had done. I saw to it that what I couldn’t have, no one else would. That’s why I revealed what you are.”

Snape turned to face Lupin, eyes glassy blank. “So it is a good thing that I shall never reproduce. Like my father, I, too, would probably reject any child I helped create. Would lead its mother to drown it.”

“Merlin! Severus! Never! You’re not like that!”

“Yes, I am. I am indeed my father’s son.”

Lupin grabbed hold of Snape’s shoulders and shook him hard. “You *idiot*! You loved her. Loved Suzanna. If she had lived, I don’t for one moment doubt that she would be here with you, safe and loved and cherished and whole because of it.”

The glass in Snape’s eyes shattered. “I... I did so love her, Remus. Oh, Suz...” He bent over his knees as though in pain. Lupin had to lean forward to hear, “Why did you have to die?”

The sounds that gradually tore their way out of Snape’s throat were more those of an animal in pain. Not able to endure any more, Lupin hauled the man into his arms and held him close as Snape fought his training, his upbringing in order to allow himself to give voice to his grief.

It had taken almost thirty years, but Suzanna Snape was finally properly mourned by her loving brother.

ssSSssSSssSSss

What Lupin had seen that had suddenly made others want to hunt him down was something that he had not even been aware of seeing.

One saw house elves everywhere. Even among the Death Eaters. Lupin in werewolf form had seen – yet not seen – a house elf reporting to Malfoy in the Dark Lord’s presence.

The house elf whom Dobby had recognized.

Lupin sat in Dumbledore’s office and sipped on some excellent tea while they discussed his future assignment.

“I would like some time off,” announced Lupin. “I’m tired and I need to regain some of my strength. I won’t be of any use to you if I suddenly fade into nothingness.”

“I wish I could grant you all the time you need,” agreed Dumbledore, “but I can really only spare you for a month. Will that be time enough?”

Lupin smiled. “It will have to be, won’t it?”

As he stood up to leave, Dumbledore coughed slightly. “Might I have a general idea where I might find you, should I have need to?”

Lupin grinned. “Send for Wollie. He’ll find me.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “I see. Well, do take good care of...yourself, Remus.”

Lupin shook his head. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Far too much, far too much. But this is something that I have been waiting to see happen for many years.”

“And you approve?”

“He’s not an easy man – not easy on others, even harder on himself. But well worth ploughing through all that hardness to the man beneath. I knew his grandmother, you see.”

This time Lupin was the one who said, “Ah.”

ssSSssSSssSSss

 

Snape came into his quarters after evening detention and stopped, stunned to see the man ensconced on his couch. “What the bloody hell,” he growled, “are you doing here, Lupin? I thought you’d be long gone.”

Lupin greeted all that with a raised eyebrow, a tight-lipped mouth and a challenging glare. “Sit down, Severus, and shut up.”

Snape caught whatever he had been about to say. He had never before heard that tone coming from Lupin: that of a man who ordered and expected to be obeyed.

Sitting in his chair, Snape shut up.

Lupin shook his head. “You know, Severus, in normal times, we would have the opportunity to deal with this situation properly. To allow it to develop, to discuss the pros and cons. But these are not normal times, and frankly, I for one do not have the time to spend on such normal activities. So I shall get down to the bare facts.

“Sirius Black and I once and still do love each other.”

Snape’s head went back as though slapped.

Lupin growled, “Love, Severus. Not *are in love*. There’s a difference. Once, you were attracted to me...as I was to you. Surprised, Sev? Yes, it really did go both ways.

“Black knew this and wanted to protect me but all he did was hurt both of us. When I came back here, I did not expect to still be attracted to you. But I was. Yes, I was as surprised then by that discovery as you are now. Who would have thought it?

“And I still am. In spite of the perpetual growl and grimace, the bad humour, the sarcastic turn of phrase, the idiotic pettiness, you are still a man whom I would like to know better. And in spite of my being a werewolf, I think you would like to know me better as well.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the time necessary for that kind of courtship. Besides,” Lupin shrugged, sighing, “we are both males and, let’s face it, males court with their cocks.”

He stood up and placed himself in front of the man who had been silently watching him, eyes intent but now wary.

“I am attracted to you, Severus. I want to fuck you and I want in turn to be fucked by you. Dumbledore has given me a month to ‘recoup my forces’. You have classes to teach in the next month. I think that whatever time you are not in class, or supervising hopefully *few* detentions, we should spend fucking each other.

“When Voldemort is eliminated, we will take all the time we need to understand and accept each other’s foibles. Oh, there is *one* other thing we will do. During the three nights of this month’s full moon, we will evaluate that situation. Whatever information you need to have for your work on the potion, I will try and provide you with it. It is only fitting that we continue the work begun by your many times great-grandparents. As you said, there must be other Suzannas in the world and they, and others, will benefit from this work.

“But apart from that, I fully intend to keep you naked in bed and as close to coming as possible. That is, when you are not returning the favour.”

Remus Lupin held out his hand. “Well,” he snapped, “what are you waiting for?”

Snape raised an eyebrow high. “You told me to sit and shut up. I have been following orders.”

Lupin showed Snape he was not the only one who had an expressive eyebrow. Exasperated, Lupin once more offered his hand.

Snape looked at the hand held out to him. Lupin was surprised at the uncertainly he saw in Snape’s face. He realized the fact that Snape was allowing himself to show that emotion was a rare gift to him.

Hesitantly, Snape raised his hand, looked into Lupin’s eyes and, taking a deep breath, placed his hand in Lupin’s.

Lupin responded with a grin he had once been told by a passing lover could curl toes. Snape responded with another flight of an eyebrow.

“I have,” Lupin growled, “stayed out of your bedchamber. I would like to see it now, if you would allow.”

Snape’s hand gripped Lupin’s almost too tightly though his voice was nonchalant. “It’s nothing special. Like yours, only the bed is larger.”

Snape stood up, and slowly, as though allowing Lupin the time to change his mind, led the way.

“Really? How much larger?”

“Not to worry, Remus. More than large enough for the two of us.”

“A four-poster?”

“Yes, Remus.”

“Good. I like four-posters.” Lupin’s voice dropped into the lascivious. “Great for games.”

At the bedchamber door, Snape pulled Lupin close. Eyes darkening with arousal, he brought his mouth down to that of the werewolf who was about to become his lover. Lupin made a throaty sound of approval that Snape echoed.

They pulled apart and Snape, eyes heavy, opened the door to his bedchamber.

“Oh, Merlin! Severus! Why the hell didn’t you warn me! It’s all Slytherin green!”

ssSSssSSssSSss


End file.
